George and James were separated as boys, George went to a family that subscribes to fishing magazines, James went to a family that read him the Wall Street Journal. James IPOs an internet company and gets a massage on the lawn of his estate while he talks on his cell phone, George sits on the deck of the trailer home, still living at home at forty-something -or- so the Wall Street Journal commercial on national TV implies...

Allow me to complete the rest of the story...

George learns to flyfish and experiences the idyllic flats of bonefish nirvana, though having nothing more than a bottle of tequila, a lime and today's fresh shrimp in the fridge of his grass hut. James is becoming continually addicted to on-line pornography in the confines of his manor as his blue-blooded wife drains his ten figure bank account and saves her fantasies for the cabana with the poolman.

George scratches a few hundred to visit the Prince Rupert region of British Columbia, and skates waking flies in the golden reflections of quaking aspens and year-round glacially capped mountain peaks, returning penniless yet dreamy-eyed to his carribean shack. James visits Prince Charles, and they decide they have a lot in common.

George meets a golden skinned sun worshiper in the carribean and they become inseperable soulmates for life. James becomes a bitter old rich man who despite more money than he could spend, hordes it from all but his divorced wife who gets her share by virtue of the legal system.

Oh God - please deliver me the funding to actually make this commercial and put it on national TV for the Flyfishing Forum!